


In Your Hands

by TheNevemore



Category: VIXX
Genre: Fluff, Haircuts, Hairdresser N, M/M, basically pointless, but cute, i guess, mentioned Rabin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-14
Updated: 2015-07-14
Packaged: 2018-04-19 20:40:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4760273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheNevemore/pseuds/TheNevemore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Taekwoon needs a haircut, but the hairdresser he’s trusted for years has abandoned him in order to follow his boyfriend to the big city. Whatever will Taekwoon do when he finally meets the man his former stylist simply called “the god of sheers”?</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Your Hands

Taekwoon was nervous.

He had been to numerous hair dressers throughout the city before finally finding the one person he trusted with his luscious locks: a rather odd man named Ravi. The edgy, deep-voiced hair dresser was a wizard with his scissors; he made it seem almost too easy to make Taekwoon’s hair submit to his will. But, as luck would have it, Ravi had met a rather handsome model while working on a shoot. First came styling his hair, then came exchanging numbers, and before Taekwoon knew it Ravi had moved to Seoul. Knowing how particular Taekwoon was about his hair, Ravi had left the man the name and contact information for another hair dresser – a man he called “the god of the sheers.”

It had taken Taekwoon’s hair getting down past his chin for the man to finally crumble. At that point, it was either trust this mysterious beautician or drive all the way to Seoul to beg Ravi to cut his hair for him. And Seoul was just too far away and work was just too busy to justify such a trip. Unfortunately. He had called and reached the man’s assistant, a cheerful guy named Sanghyuk. Taekwoon quietly explained that Ravi had suggested he see N about his hair, and that made Sanghyuk chuckle into the phone. “Ah, so you’re the one he told us to expect!” That had been ominous. “Of course we can fit you in – N left specific instructions to make sure you got taken care of when you called. When are you available?”

The brunette hesitated. He could feel his palms beginning to sweat at the thought of entering an unfamiliar salon and sitting in an unfamiliar chair as an unfamiliar hairdresser touched his precious hair. It was almost overwhelming. “I – ugh – oh, this was a mistake,” he mumbled, hanging up.

Later that day, his phone began to ring, an unfamiliar number on the id. Thinking it was a potential client, he answered and was surprised when a musical, almost brassy voice assaulted his ears, “Taekwoonie!” Who was this stranger to address him so familiarly? “Ravi told me all about you. Sanghyuk told me you called but hung up before you could make an appointment.” Taekwoon could practically hear the pout in the man’s voice, and he just knew this strange caller had to be the ever mysterious N. “I’m guessing you were uncomfortable with the idea of coming to the salon – Ravi said you might be. So! Why don’t I come to you?”

His mouth fell open. “What?”

“Why don’t I come to you? I can stop past your home this evening and cut your hair for you. Ravi said he never cut it wet – just a bit of spraying when needed – so I can just bring my photoshoot kit with me. Does that sound alright?”

The temptation to say that it was absolutely not alright was strong, but the need for a haircut was (for once) stronger. Taekwoon sighed. “Alright,” he murmured, his words almost too soft for the receiver to pick up.

N chuckled. “Excellent! I finish at the salon at six. Would around seven be alright?”

“Yeah.”

“Ah, that makes me so happy to hear that, Taekwoonie!” N’s grin was an almost tangible force through the phone, and it made the accountant grumpy. How could one person be so happy to have a late appointment with a difficult client they had never met before? “This is my cell number. Text me your address, and I will see you at seven! Bye, Taekwoonie! Have a great day!” And before Taekwoon could protest, the line was dead.

Which was how the man had ended up with an appointment he was not even certain he wanted to begin with.

By 6:50, Taekwoon had taken to pacing around his apartment – stopping at random to adjust his knickknacks on the shelves or to straighten one of the paintings on the wall. He had opted to wear a v-necked shirt that was wearing out, just in case the man’s scissors slipped and somehow damaged his shirt; Taekwoon preferred to be safe rather than sorry. He had even pulled his least favorite chair – the uncomfortable oak one from his guest room – into the living room, which had the best lighting and hardwood floors. His gaze flicked over to rest on the clock at every turn. And yet, when the telling buzzer came Taekwoon still jumped.

Taking a steadying breath, he moved towards the door and tugged it open. He was admittedly…surprised. Ravi had been the sort of man that had intimidated him on first sight. Every time the met for a haircut, Ravi’s hair would be a different color and often feature the most ridiculous of styles. It was like he lived to show the world his swag, and his hair was the canvas on which he painted his stylistic masterpiece. Taekwoon had nearly refused to let him touch his hair, but some instinct had suggested that perhaps a man who looked so insane was simply a genius. And luckily he had been right. Ravi was both insane and a genius. His hair had sported the same cut, featuring side swept bangs and a smooth texture, for the past five years, and it worked for Taekwoon. It was professional and neat and low maintenance. What more did he need from a haircut? Ravi understood him on a deep, spiritual, follicle level. But the man standing in front of him was most assuredly not Ravi.

He was slim and ethereal – looking more like a dance extra in a music video than the rather more muscular Ravi. And his features were almost elven with their sharp cheekbones and the impish little smile curling about his lips. But what was most remarkable was that his hair was a very normal shade of brown and styled in a way that was painstakingly familiar: side swept bangs and a smooth finish. Taekwoon’s heart stuttered. Had Ravi given this man his hair cut, inspired by Taekwoon, or had it been the other way around? Either way, the accountant did not trust a man whose hair looked so normal – not after Ravi’s rainbow of colors and myriad of cuts.

As though anticipating the reaction, N slipped past Taekwoon and into the apartment, his case of tools rolling along behind him. “Hello,” he said brightly, slipping off his shoes. “I’m N. You must be Taekwoon.” A wide smile turned his lips, as though he were meeting up with an old friend rather than meeting a stranger for the first time. It was unsettling.

The accountant nodded before shutting the door. He then turned to regard the hairdresser once more, uncertainty written in every move as he shifted his weight from foot-to-foot and tugged at the fraying hem of his shirt. Then, resigning himself to his fate, he brushed past N and moved into the living room. He sat down on the chair with a distinct thud, looking for all the world like a man about to be executed. N raised an eyebrow. “Alrightie then.” He rolled his equipment into the room and opened the case, folding out the different drawers and compartments. Taekwoon’s gaze was drawn to the glittering tools, and he blinked when he noticed the rather….gawdy hue of N’s scissors. He literally had golden scissors. Taekwoon was 10000% certain that N was going to absolutely ruin his hair.

“Now, Ravi did tell me what he usually did with your hair. So, don’t worry. You’re in good hands.” Pulling out a fuchsia towel and a leopard print cape, N set about preparing his newest client while humming under his breath. Once Taekwoon was prepared, the hairdresser paused. “You know, you’d look extremely sexy with auburn hair.” That said, the man grinned at Taekwoon and turned to grab his spray bottle.

Stepping behind the accountant, N lightly spritzed his soft brown hair. He then began to lightly comb his fingers through the silken strands, his nails scraping pleasantly against the man’s scalp, as he continued spraying. Taekwoon shivered at the combined sensations of N’s fingernails and the cool water on the back of his neck and ears. For whatever reason, it felt different to have N touch him, as though the cheeky brunette knew just how to draw firebrands across Taekwoon’s flesh with a simple brush of his fingernails. It was unsettling. Taekwoon tried to find something – anything – else to focus on, only to find himself caught in a waft of N’s cologne. His nostrils flared, drawing in the distinctly spicy scent. It felt as though he were sitting in the midst of a market along the Nile, surrounded by a miasma of expensive herbs and spices. Another breath drew in the hints of sandalwood and plum underlying the initial wave of spice; the image of the market faded only to be replaced by draping fabric, burning incense, and the glow of bronze skin in the candlelight. Taekwoon shivered. N smelt of nameless adventure and burning desire – things the stoic accountant had silently longed for as a young man but had never been brave enough to chase. He was intoxicating.

When N’s fingers fell from his scalp, Taekwoon shivered at the sudden loss of contact – a breath hissing out between his teeth. N chuckled softly, leaning over to put down his spray bottle. “Relax,” he said, his voice gentle. “Ravi wouldn’t send you to me unless he trusted me. Mm?” He leaned forward enough to smile at Taekwoon before picking up his scissors and a comb. For a moment, he seemed to consider his canvas: running his comb through Taekwoon’s locks, watching how they moved and fell with each stroke. He then lifted the first strands and began to cut, sending showers of tiny hairs falling down to dust Taekwoon’s shoulders. Closing his eyes, the accountant succumbed to the sensations of having his hair cut. Every move, from the light pressure of N’s fingers moving his head to a new position to the tug of the comb to the soft brush of the hairdresser’s breath on his skin swelled into a cacophony of pleasure that enticed a rosy hue to burn across the fine arch of Taekwoon’s cheekbones. But, he was too far gone to care. He did not even notice when the razor came out nor the soft hum of the clippers. All he knew was that he would have to send Ravi a thank you for recommending such a wonderful hairdresser … if the cut actually turned out.

Suddenly, Taekwoon noticed that N was no longer touching him. Opening his eyes was a surprisingly difficult task: It felt as though he had fallen into a deep trance under the man’s deft hands. He blinked once – twice – before N’s features swam into view. The man was in the midst of styling Taekwoon’s hair, a frown of concentration furrowing his brow and the tip of his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth. He did not even seem to notice the way Taekwoon’s dark gaze burned into his flesh nor the still flushed pallet of the accountant’s skin: N was lost in his art. But then, for a brief moment, he paused in his work to flash Taekwoon a blinding smile before returning to his task. Taekwoon’s gaze slammed down to the floor; he desperately wished he could duck his head without disturbing N’s work.

“There,” N murmured, his lips yet again twisting in a smile. “Do you want to see how you look?”

Taekwoon’s gaze snuck up to rest on N’s features once more, and he managed a little nod. The hairdresser wiggled and pulled the man to his feet. “Alright. Where is your nearest mirror?”

“Bathroom. Second door down the hall, on the left.”

“Excellent! Close your eyes, and I’ll guide you there.” Taekwoon hesitated before – relunctantly – obeying. He felt N’s slim fingers curl about his wrist, and he was tugged across the smooth hardwood floor towards the waiting mirror. Once in the bathroom, N’s hands fluttered to rest on his shoulders, turning him towards the mirror, before he heard the tell-tale flick of the lights coming on. “Alright. Open.”

The man took a slow, steadying breath before opening his eyes. He was astonished. And a bit aghast. N had not given him his usual haircut. Instead of smooth bangs and soft curves, he had gone in a radically different direction. Taekwoon’s gaze flickered up to quickly take in the close shaved sides and the textured layers and the way his hair swept up – away from his face. He gulped. Where Ravi made him look like a polite little kitten, N had turned him into a lion. The different was astounding and just a bit unnerving. It felt as though N had taken everything Taekwoon had been drawn to about him – the adventure, the mystery, the desire for the unknown – and somehow imbued his hair with the nearly reckless energy those things embodied. For just a moment, Taekwoon felt as though perhaps he could go to Egypt and walk the markets or crawl down into the sweltering darkness of a tomb. And then his knees began to shake a little.

“What do you think?” N asked, their gazes meeting in the mirror’s silvered surface. It was clear that N had watched his entire reaction as it had played across his face, and the man was chewing his bottom lip nervously. He had taken a gamble in giving Taekwoon a different haircut, but he thought the affect was ultimately very stunning. N would not hesitate to slap Taekwoon’s face all over the magazines with that haircut – though he still thought it would look even better auburn.

Taekwoon took a slow breath, trying to gather the fractured shards of his thoughts. At last, he managed a tiny smile. “I look like a lion,” he decided at last.

Seeing the smile, N visibly relaxed. “You look amazing,” he murmured. “It was a shame Ravi let you hide so much of your face. You’re gorgeous.” Turning, he moved back towards the living room in order to begin cleaning up.

Trailing after him, Taekwoon watched him work for a few moments. He then went to the kitchen and grabbed the broom. Once the tools were all put in their rightful places and ever piece of shorn hair banished to the garbage can, Taekwoon found himself standing awkwardly in front of the hairdresser once more. “How – how much do I owe you?”

N grinned, slipping his hand into the back pocket of his jeans. “If you still like it in a week, we can talk price,” he bargained. “I want to make sure you’re satisfied before I take your money.”

Taekwoon balked. “No, no. you completed your services. You should be paid. How much?”

The hairdresser nodded, considering the man in front of him thoughtfully. “How about dinner, then?”

Eyes wide, Taekwoon gaped at N. “What?”

“Dinner.” N checked his watch. “It’s not too late for dinner, and I haven’t eaten yet. Take me to your favorite restaurant, and I’ll consider us even.”

The blush was back with infuriating force. Taekwoon was fairly certain he had just been asked out on a date for the first time in nearly seven years. And by a man, no less – an extremely gorgeous man with an impish smile and a deceptively tame appearance. Taekwoon nodded. “Just let me get my coat.”

N grinned at him. “Excellent.” He moved to put on his shoes – leaving his case of tools by the door to be picked up later. And, as they were about to step out the door, N paused. “By the way… My name is Hakyeon.”

Taekwoon was certain he had never heard a more perfect sound in his entire life.


End file.
